I Can't, But I Will
by CheshireRyan
Summary: Santana's state of mind on a night before 2x15 "Sexy." Rating for implications. One-shot.


**DISCLAIMER: Obviously I don't own_ Glee._**

I'm not entirely sure how we got to this point. You're lying half on top of me, your sweaty skin addicting and pale. I trace the curve of your arms with a hand as you move off of me. I don't tell you that I'm in love with you because love is always something to get hurt with (I mean, just look at my parents). I still don't know if you're going to completely cut me off for that jackass in a wheel chair so I'm keeping it to myself for now.

You let me prop my head on your arm and I can't help but smile. We're good together, it's obvious when it's just you and me. To the rest of the world, I'm probably using you for something. Sex, I guess. But I'm not, BrittBritt. I can't use you.

But sometimes I feel like I am.

The room smells like sex and the joint I smoked before you showed up. Our bodies are striped in the orange sunset streaming through the blinds. I kiss your armpit and you giggle like you always do. I feel my stomach sour suddenly. Does Artie do this? Is he able to get past the usual gross of armpits to tickle you with his lips just because you like it? I doubt it. His lips probably aren't that soft.

I hope he doesn't.

It's one of _our_ things.

Your fingers are tracing shapes on my shoulder as you hum that _Purple People Eater _song. I still don't understand how you don't find the song creepy, but it's become a normal sound to me. We've been best friends for forever, longer than any other friendship I've ever had.

You're the only friend I want to talk with my tongue super close to.

I was worried we'd never do this again, you know. I was worried I'd be left behind for Artie and his stupid sweater vests. (Seriously. Who dresses that kid? A ninety year old virgin?) But we're here and that's what matters right now.

I wish I had some Jack right now. Maybe I'd get the balls to finally just _tell_ you. But it's probably a good thing I drank it all with Puck the other night. I know you want me to just admit to wanting to be with you, want me to proclaim it to the heavens. I can't, BrittBritt. I'm terrified.

Yes, I'm terrified of you rejecting me for Stubbles but that's not the only thing. I'm terrified that I'll be an outcast like Kurt was. I'm terrified that I'll be expected to join the golf team or something else that's stupid.

I'm terrified of you, too. It's not just the rejection thing. I don't know how to explain or even if I should. You're my one good thing in this miserable stupid ugly world and I want to keep you forever. I can't protect you if we're together like you want us to be. I can't keep the assholes from making fun of you or judging you. They already do, BrittBritt.

They think you're stupid but they don't know you like I do.

Not even Artie does.

You're the smartest person I know. I'm pretty sure you're going to be a veterinarian one day or a pediatric doctor or something. You know everything there is to know about cats and you're awesome with kids. Sometimes I think of what would happen if the world were an awesome happy place and it wouldn't be such a horrible thing if we were together like you want.

Like _really _together with feelings and shit.

I can see this little blonde-haired kid who looks just like you stumbling from your arms to mine as she learns to walk. Her eyes are big and brown and she has a stuffed cat or maybe a duck. When she's older, she can get me to do whatever she wants by giving me that pouty look that you do and I melt.

I have the hardest time saying no to you, BrittBritt.

But that's not happening any time soon. The Diocese up in Minnesota's been mailing anti-gay propaganda to their parishioners and I just...I can't be gay, BrittBritt. I just can't. I can't deal with people hating me. It's bad enough that they hate me for being a bitch and a slut or whatever. I can't have them hate me for loving you.

You're innocent and beautiful and I can't understand why they'd hate me for loving you. They should love you too. But we're two girls and that's wrong to them so they won't love you or me. They'll hate us both for being in love.

Are you in love with me? I guess I just assume so because you want me to sing Melissa Etheridge songs with you. Maybe it's just hopeful thinking. I don't know, really. I don't know how to ask you without feeling like I'm having a heart attack and dying of asthma at the same time.

You scare me a lot, BrittBritt. I'm not always sure it's a good thing.

I can feel you kiss my hair and I look up at you, seeing your smile. Your eyes are so blue it puts the sky to shame. I can see all your freckles and I reach up to poke your nose.

"I can hear you thinking," you say quietly. I smile, but I hope you don't ask me what about because you're the only person who knows when I'm lying. "You should stop before you get a headache."

"I think I'll be okay," I say with a chuckle. "Thanks though." I snuggle back into you, trying to keep this moment for as long as I can. When tomorrow comes, there's no guarantee you won't regret this. I'm not sure what I'll do when you realize you're cheating on Artie.

Maybe I should bite the bullet and bring it up now...

I sigh and look back up at you. You frown, not sure what's going on and I fight the nausea that's building at the thought of you regretting this, regretting me. "You're cheating on Artie. If you leave now, we can pretend it didn't happen."

I can see how your lips downturn and I feel guilty. I shouldn't have brought it up. Why do I always choose the wrong thing?

"Honey," you sigh. "I cheat on him when I'm with you and I cheat on you when I'm with him. It feels less like cheating when I'm with you though." I can feel tears in my eyes and I smile slightly.

"Really?" I hate how my voice cracks, but the way you're looking at me makes me ignore it. Maybe I'm not foolishly hoping you love me. Maybe you really do.

"Yeah," you say and lean in to kiss me. It's close-mouthed, but it's the best kiss I've had all night. Which is saying something considering what we were up to earlier. After a dozen or so heartbeats, I deepen it. Your tongue meets mine and I can't keep from moaning at the warmth and how I can still slightly taste myself on you.

The next evening you come to me and this happens, I ask you if you're sure. You say breathlessly, "It's not cheating if the plumbing's different." That becomes our motto for our clandestine affair and I can't help but wish that it had more to do with the fact that you preferred me than some bullshit line about anatomy. But like with everything involving you, I'll take whatever I can get. One day I'll tell you, but that isn't today or tomorrow. You just have to give me time, BrittBritt. I promise you that I'll get there. Just be patient.


End file.
